


the poetry of resistance

by maybeformepersonally



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fantastic Racism, Fantasy, Fantasy Creatures, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-08-10 23:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeformepersonally/pseuds/maybeformepersonally
Summary: Dark times are brewing, fear and prejudice have been sinking their vicious claws into Dan's world, twisting and poisoning his once quiet, peaceful way of life. He feels like his life is falling apart, and he's scrambling to do something, anything, to keep enough of the pieces together.But even in the darkest of times, even in the midst of the worst atrocities committed, kindness can blossom, and new hope can be born.





	1. Daniel

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my fill for the [Phandom Reverse Bang](https://phandomreversebang.tumblr.com)! I need to thank the lovely admins of the PRB for organising this, and the wonderful [@dansphlevels](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/) for making the art that inspired this story. And a very special, very heartfelt thank you to the fabulous [@itsmyusualphannie](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/), who was kind enough to fill the position of my beta reader when I found myself without one, and doing an excellent job of it to boot. Any mistakes that remain are solely my own.
> 
> You can (and should!) view the gorgeous art that inspired this fic [here](https://dansphlevels.tumblr.com/post/186852259173/art-for-the-poetry-of-resistance-by)! You should also show the artist some love *hint hint* ;)

Old Conrad Huckabee got up early as usual to start the day, as was expected of bakers, before the sun would rise. After the habitual short routine of morning ablutions that had remained unchanged for years now, he headed downstairs into his bakery accompanied by his dearest wife. She had been as faithful and true to him as a man could hope for, a true companion in life and business, and he likely would have floundered without her support and no-nonsense attitude throughout the years. He thanked the gods every day that he had been so lucky as to find one as her to stand beside him.

They moved as one into their respective positions, a dance they had long perfected for a routine as familiar as breathing and as beloved as the life they’d built together, Conrad at the ovens and his dear Adelaide with her books and supplies, making sure everything was in order for Conrad to get lost in his craft. A mere half-hour before opening time, the Howell boy arrived, perfectly on time. Adelaide quite liked that about him. Responsible lad.

Conrad opened the door for him and ushered him to the back, to where his wife was sorting that week’s stock and making sure everything was running smoothly. Adelaide had truly been a godsend. He’d married for love, but no one would suspect it from the way his father’s little bakery had flourished under their joint care once Conrad had inherited it not long after their nuptials. He knew, everyone knew really, that the success had been in great part due to his young wife’s sharpness of mind and her skill in trade. Oh, she would never stiff or cheat a merchant, such behaviours would only lead to mistrust and ruin, if not imprisonment. No, she was fair to a fault, just, well, _ brilliant_. 

He spared a glance to the young merchant greeting his wife with a warm smile and a respectful tilt of the head. It had been over a decade now since the boy had started trading with them directly, first as proxy for his parents and later as a trader in his own right, but despite his young age, he had never treated Adelaide with anything but the respect she rightfully deserved, which was saying something when half the village still persisted in viewing women as somehow… inferior. Conrad huffed at the thought. _ Old fools_, he thought, and nevermind that he was old enough now to fit that description himself. Oh, but he was no fool. They were so set in their ways that they would stare reality in the face and refuse its length and shape, and for what? Everyone knew women were especially good at trade, this he had learnt as a little tyke at his grandfather’s knee back before he was even tall enough to reach the baker’s ovens. Women were better at maths, and accounting, they excelled at keeping books, could run where the men would limp and stumble. 

This particular trader, young enough to be their own son, seemed to have learnt this as well, for he had never disrespected his dear Adelaide, and had never tried to dupe her with bad quality wares or too steep prices. A fair and honest trader was hard to come by, sadly, which he supposed was why those two had always liked each other, he mused as a chuckle reached his ears. His wife was in good spirits today, he thought with a little smile of his own, and whispered a quick prayer to her favoured gods in thanks. He was ever grateful, after so many years, that the gods had so blessed him in both business and love.

As he continued arranging the day’s work in preparation for opening time, he reflected that it was a pity the young Howell boy had not found a wife of his own to share his efforts and secure the line of his house. But then again, that was hardly surprising. 

Some small eccentricities would hardly matter to any smart young woman or discerning head of house, not with a profitable line of trade and a face as fair as that, but to live past the borders of the forest… oh, yes. That would give any young woman or her parents pause. Even with the efforts of the special guard, one could never be perfectly sure that no creatures lurked, not outside the heart of the village, not when nothing but earth and trees and wild animals surrounded you and the terrain may allow those awful, wicked creatures passage into your very home. 

The boy, well, man now, had some small grasp on the magicks that kept such dangers at bay; he must, or he would have perished by now. And Conrad did not doubt that he was dutiful, and ever careful not to shirk his duties. His very survival attested to that. But he had been born in the forest, had grown up there, with his parents moving there as soon as they were married. They had inherited the land, and it was a good business decision to farm it, but still, most of the village had half expected them to perish out there, cut off from the comforts of immediate trade and the community. It took days to get to the village from their land on foot, and the lad had built his own house a whole day’s walk deeper into the forest than even his parents’ lodgings, or so the tales said. Tales that he was rather disposed to believe, as it wasn’t just the young fools who had nothing better to do than tell tales to pass the time that were saying so. Old Burnaby himself swore to it, and Conrad had lost count of the respectable storekeepers who had hinted or even outright said as much.

Still, the young Howell couple must have been better prepared than the village had given them credit for, and more favoured by the gods, to be blessed with the tools to survive alone all the way out there. And young Daniel only knew that life, and the ever-present vigilance and jealous warding of his lands must be second nature to him. 

A pity, but understandable, that he hadn’t found a partner willing to follow him into the dark heart of the forest. Oh well, plenty of travellers and foreigners were used to such conditions. Perhaps that was all it would take; a traveller that crossed their village, or a merchant looking for trade. He hoped so, for the kind young man’s sake. 

He heard him say his goodbyes to Adelaide, muffled by the partition that led behind his shop, and watched him appear from behind it a few seconds later. He seemed pleased enough with their trade, and Conrad was once again reminded of the confession he’d got out of the young man years ago about how their family was one of his favourites to deal with in the whole village, as they were more welcoming than most, and less driven to endless haggling. His dear Adelaide knew the worth of the young lad’s wares and she was willing enough to pay a fair price for them, which put them several steps above most of the village.

“Good exchange?” he prompted; they had enough time before he had to open the shop to indulge in a little small talk.

“Quite good, for both our houses,” Daniel answered with a pleasant smile. His eyes caught on the display to their left, however, and Conrad stifled an amused chuckle at the young man’s predictability. “Are those qurabiya?” Daniel asked, not even trying to hide his childlike delight.

“Indeed, they are! Straight from the oven. I could be persuaded to sell you some before the first customers may get their hands on the bargain, if you make a good enough offer for me to consider it...” he was teasing, of course. He was always happy to sell his products to Daniel when he was around, even if the bakery hadn’t technically opened its doors yet when he came round for business. Daniel knew it, too. He was giving him a wide dimpled grin, and the old baker found himself thinking again about how unfortunate it was that such a kind and striking young man should be single still. 

Daniel asked for four qurabiya to go, two for his parents and two for himself, as usual, and as Conrad wrapped them up for him, he broached the subject once again, much to the well-taken exasperation of the young man before him, who’d been subject to this particular talk at the hands of the well-meaning baker many, many times before (and more often as of late, as he grew older).

“No news to speak of on my love life, no,” he said with a badly hidden roll of his eyes. “I can’t imagine why the topic matters so much to you, I swear. More nosy than most of the matchmakers in the village put together, you are. You needn’t concern yourself with my love life, Conrad. I promise I can handle the trade for myself, with the occasional help from my parents, if need be. Your supply line shall not suffer from my regrettable lack of a wife.”

“Of course, of course,” he said placatingly. “But trade is only part of the reason to seek a marriage. You can’t be content to spend all that time alone out there in the woods. A companion would surely make the days shorter and sweeter, and a young man as yourself should be thinking about children soon…”

Daniel shook his head to himself, amused at the baker’s persistence. “I appreciate your concern, but as you know, my way of life wouldn’t suit most villagers, much less the young women who grew up in a village as big and bustling with activity as this one. Regardless, I am quite content as is, much as I know it perplexes you.” He smiled then. As annoying as it could be to be grilled about his love life and to be offered pointed advice about the young unmarried women in town, Dan knew it came from a good place. “Most of us aren’t so lucky as to find our perfect match, much less to find her so early in life, you know.” The man was a hopeless romantic, and as such had become something like the unofficial matchmaker of the town. It was sweet. 

“Ah, that is very true. But that doesn’t mean you should give up, young lad! I hear a caravan of travellers has announced their intention to stop here soon. They must be on the lookout for new trade, or perhaps even a place to settle on. I hear there is a pair of hunters coming in to aid the special guard, but perhaps there are a few ladies as well? Perhaps a young lady accustomed to the life of a traveller might be more open to a life on the outskirts of town…?”

Dan swallowed any outward indication of his skin crawling at the mention of ‘hunters’ coming in to ‘aid the special guard’. The casual mention had activated his fight or flight response, but he couldn’t let his expression slip, even with well-meaning old villagers like Conrad. 

Thankfully, Dan had years of practice in the concealing of emotions, and so he chuckled at the man’s insistence, determined to grill the more forthcoming storekeepers who might actually have the kind of information he needed about the hunters coming his way. He knew the old baker well enough by now to know that any details he might pry out of him would be geared more towards getting him wed rather than anything useful to him. 

“We might see,” he told Conrad with a carefree glint of mischief. “Don’t get your hopes up, old friend, you know I will not settle for usefulness.”

“As you shan’t! I quite agree!” He had perked up at Dan’s seeming acquiescence. “Why settle for an advantageous union when one can strive for a lasting, true love?” He was nodding along as he presented the package of sweets to him, carefully sealed to withstand Dan’s travels. Dan paid for the pastries and bade him farewell, reminding him once more not to try to pair him up with any young lady he thought might make a good match, even though he knew Conrad would endeavour to tell any unmarried woman arriving in that caravan that looked the slightest bit interested all about Dan’s virtues. 

Can’t ask the deer to change its hooves, Dan thought ruefully. He hoped the man didn’t get any poor woman’s hopes up with his efforts. The last thing Dan needed was to contend with the complications that would come from taking a human wife.

* * *

Dan took the long way back to his home deep into the forest, taking a few detours to reassure himself that everything was okay, that no disaster or evil had befallen his beautiful land in his brief absence, that no tree or animal or creature had been disturbed. 

You couldn’t be too careful these days.

The leisurely trek soothed ruffled nerves, but he couldn’t stop turning the latest news in his mind as he walked deftly over uneven terrain and smooth plains alike. The air sprites surfaced from the heights of the tallest trees to signal the lack of new developments as he gave them their prearranged call; the family of ungulate kelpies living in the depths of his forest looked up at him when he approached and gave him a distinct nod to indicate no problems had met them either; and so on. 

He _ didn’t _take the small detour behind the old oak tree he used to play in as a child to check the mounds that the aes sídhe used to claim as their home. And he didn’t take a left there down the path that led to the natural pond that had formed several centuries ago, where the will-o'-the-wisps used to dance ethereally over the calm water, dipping occasionally to play hide-and-seek in the reeds and water lilies. 

There was no point. There was no one there anymore. 

The sun was high in the sky by the time his circuit led him to the last stop before home. There couldn’t be more than an hour or so of sunlight left.

Dan finally slowed down as he approached the jagged rock formation that led to the cenote that was his final check-in of the day. He left his pack resting on one of the concave shapes eroded into the stone, secured against any strong winds by one of the stray rocks lying around, before heading for the mouth of the cave. It really did look like a mouth, rough spikes growing up out of the base of the opening and coiling all around it like monstrously deformed, too-sharp teeth. It wasn’t the easiest squeeze, especially for someone his size, but he could manoeuvre it without too much trouble, his hands and feet familiar with the grooves and sharp edges. It was for the best anyway, he thought. Wouldn’t do to have an unwary traveller enter the sacred caves by mistake.

He didn’t come here often. But the day’s news was worrying enough to warrant it, he’d decided after ruminating on it all day. He’d worried about it in the back of his head for the entirety of his trip.

He navigated the sharp mouth of the cave and crossed into the cooler air inside, careful to stay his grip into the stone wall before steadily climbing down. There was a stretch of open sky that illuminated a patch of the deep blue waters which covered most of the vast interconnected caves, but jumping directly into the waters would be nothing short of suicidal, even for a not-unwelcome-guest such as himself. He’d never trespass on another’s domain like that, nor would he want to abuse his welcome. He knew how rare the courtesy extended to him was, and how precious for it.

The rays of sunlight reaching into the deceptively calm water made it sparkle attractively, and Dan took the time to appreciate the beautiful play of flecks of light and shadows that adorned the cave walls as clouds shifted all the way up in the sky. He’d always enjoyed the view, from the first time he was allowed entry here as a child, and he’d always marvelled that he would be given such an unlikely gift. The habitants of the cenotes were infamous for distrusting outsiders.

To those who even knew there was such a thing, anyway.

As he was reaching the ground - he’d headed for the small patch of limestone filled with tiny rocks to the left of the cave entrance as was the custom - he lowered his bare feet into the narrow riverbank and announced his presence with a distinct whistle. They would have already noticed him, of course, but the rituals must be observed. He waited a full minute, counting in his head and watching the little shadows of movement in the water, taking in the seldom-seen beauty of the caves, then, once the minute was over, he moved ahead, carefully, deliberately, to the edge of the river. He could only advance three wide steps before the stream bed plunged to unknown depths, and so he stopped at the third step, the soles of his feet firmly rooted into the rock, and he waited.

He wasn’t made to wait long. He saw the figures approach, thin and sinewy and too fast to be any kind of human, too fast in the water to be anything but what they were, and he let his feet and calves harden and expand lightly, gripping into the rock he was standing on more securely and providing a more reliable proof of his own identity than anything else he could have done or presented them with. He was in their domain, anyway. One, alone, where hundreds of them swam leisurely around, and where hundreds more could be called if a threat dared show up. If they wanted him dead he didn’t stand a chance. Just as they liked it. 

He couldn’t really blame them.

They surfaced a few meters away, and he was relieved to recognise their leader. She hadn’t always been available for his impromptu visits, and the others were much more distrustful of him. Klavdiya was there the first time Dan had visited as a kid, however. She remembered his Papa too, and that also helped. 

“Lady Klavdiya,” Dan addressed her, twining his arms close to his chest, and inclined his torso slightly while keeping eye contact with her. She bared her too-long, too-sharp teeth in a grimace Dan had learnt was a gesture not unlike a smile for humans. The two rusalki flanking her sides allowed themselves to stoop lower into the water, vigilant as ever but mollified by the show of respect. Dan only recognised one of them from his previous visits, though she’d never offered a name. 

“Daniel, forest child. You come unannounced.” 

“I do. I’ve received news that you deserve to hear.” The rusalki appreciated candour as much as Dan did, so he didn’t waste their time with small talk. It would be an insult to them both. 

“Speak,” Klavdiya prompted, not unkindly.

“There is a party coming to the village. No more than a dozen humans, but among them, there is a pair of hunters. Rumours are they’re quite skilled in certain magicks, and they’ve sent word that they’re canvassing the kingdom, catching and disposing of any non-humans they can and making note of others they may not have the resources to slay. I don’t know how accurate the assessment of their skills is, but I’ve ascertained that there _ is _a pair of hunters travelling this way, and they’ve apparently caused quite the stir in the neighbouring lands, so I doubt they’ll be easy pickings.”

Klavdiya swirled her tail close to the surface in a dangerous motion that Dan knew could drain the life of a human in a single blow. 

She was worried. 

Dan hated it. 

“Canvassing…” she sounded the word out, picking at it as she asked for more information.

“I doubt they’ll venture this deep into the forest. If they do, I may well have to take them out myself before they ever reach the caves.”

Klavdiya’s fins flickered in sympathy. She knew he wouldn’t enjoy it if it came to that. 

Dan understood the significance of the gesture, a notable display of insight and compassion from a creature who would delight in slaying her enemies, as brutally and mercilessly as she felt they deserved. He saw the respect in her eyes, in her posture, in every word she said to him. She knew he would do it if necessary. 

“You may need help,” she declared.

“I hope not,” he hedged.

“You may need help,” she repeated, softly but with a core of strength intrinsic to her people and her character.

“I do not wish to involve you. I have come to warn you because I may not be able to come once they’re in the vicinity. I would not want to lead them here. And I don’t know how long they’ll stay.”

“You may need help,” she repeated herself a third time, and much as he didn’t want to acknowledge the implicit offer, it would border on a snub to dismiss it a third time. Dan gave her a pleading look. She didn’t flinch.

“...I may. But if it comes to that, it may be too late for me anyway.”

“If you lead them to the opening at the top, you need only push them in. If they fall into the water, my brethren will make short work of them, magick or no magick.”

The hunters’ magic could cost her brethren several lives, maybe dozens if they were as powerful as advertised. He didn’t say this. She knew. A threat to his forest implied a threat to her caves, to her river, to the sea her river flowed into. A canvassing entourage might even be planning that far ahead. Dan rather hoped not.

He let out a heavy breath, reluctant acquiescence. “I promise I shall only consider it as the very last resort,” he vowed.

Klavdiya inclined into an awkward bow, respect shown for respect due. “You need not vow so, our offer was freely made. But it is appreciated.” She would not have offered so to someone else. She would not have offered if she didn’t know he’d never ask it of them. That is why she offered. That, and her people. Their domain. Their home. They would rather all die defending it than surrender one lone inch of it. They’d already lost so many. Humans had always been particularly brutal to her kind, and it had only got so much worse in the last decade...

“My respects to you and yours. May our alliance endure the hurdles to come, and may no threat disturb the peace and quiet of our lands and rivers.” The formal words closed the formal encounter, and he waited to see what Klavdiya would do next. 

“Our respects, forest child. Should you need our power, we shall be here.” 

Dan did another ‘rusalka bow’, as he’d come to call them when he’d first learnt them as a child, arms entwined and pressed to his chest, a show of respect and trust to the people whose domain he had been allowed to step into. He remembered his Papa explaining the significance of the tangled arms - a deliberate blunting of one of their best weapons; the position of their feet - as deep as they could go into the water without endangering or maiming themselves - and the revealing of their nature by calling forth the forest to reshape their lower limbs into their inhuman form - proof of identity, of membership, of allegiance. He had tried to copy the delicate movements that flowed so effortlessly from his Papa, but he’d only managed a clumsy imitation that first time. They’d practised later, back at home, at little Dan’s insistence. He’d been five then.

Now, the movements were well-practised, his limbs folding gracefully and his stance never wavering. Klavdiya rose from her own bow and made a swirly movement with her arms to dismiss her companions. They’d stay close, keep an eye on them, he knew, but they didn’t argue; just submerged themselves into the water and disappeared from view.

Klavdiya swam close, movements careful so as to display her goodwill. A rusalka swimming at natural speeds would read to any creature as a threat on an instinctual level, no matter how firm an ally they knew them to be. Dan flexed his feet, one after the other, smoothing rough bark back into soft pale flesh, and took three steps back so that he could sit on the edge of the water, letting his human-looking feet rest comfortably in the shallows.

“Did you find anything else?” Klavdiya asked once she was within reach. Not that they’d reach out to touch each other. Neither one particularly cared to, and if they did there’d be angry and protective rusalki to answer to. 

Dan shook his head, allowing his expression to display his worry fully. He’d only heard rumours, some snippets of conversations overheard and some freely offered. But he’d heard tales of less fortunate lands, heard enough - too much, really - of the horrors perpetrated by more zealous bands of humans in the plains to the east, the scope of the bloodshed in the mountain villages of the south, the atrocities committed in the name of ‘humanity’. He’d never been an optimist, but the current political climate was beyond anything he could have feared. It made surviving a burden, sometimes. 

He missed his Papa like a cracked rib, the pain sharp and present with every breath he took, and he sometimes thought that if it wasn’t for the chance to help others, to help even a few of the poor lost souls that were being mercilessly hunted as far and wide as he managed to get news from, then he might have given up long ago. The future felt so bleak. And he was so _ tired_.

But he was the last bastion between the misguided and cruel and the haven that was his forest, strategically tucked away into its roots, emboldened and favoured by Her, her child, and he couldn’t abandon Her any more than he could abandon those in need that were desperate enough to venture inside into her welcoming folds, and there had been quite a few of those in recent years. These were desperate times, after all.

Some, however, like the rusalki, hadn’t ventured in looking for an escape, but rather they were a part of it from times immemorial. 

Well, the rusalki were neighbours to it, technically. They had their own domain in the pools of the caves entrenched within the forest, and in the river that flowed through them, connecting them to the deeper, wider sea. But they _belonged _there, they had been there for millennia, and for all their danger they felt to Dan like a respite, a comfort, a steady bulwark that refused to be moved, refused to be challenged, refused to be cowed. 

So many peoples had folded, some in fear, some in indifference, a few in a strategic bid that meant to win them the realm in the long run. But not the rusalki, steadfast and unyielding as ever, and not Dan either. Unlike them, he lacked the strength of numbers, however. He only had the forest. The forest and his human parents, who had no command of magick, his human parents who couldn’t fight, and who still now carried the bleeding wound of the forced separation with their hearts’ partner, patched up but still raw, still tearing at them, still ravaging their will and their courage. Dan sometimes thought that they suffered his Papa’s absence even more keenly than him.

His talk with Klavdiya was short, as their chats usually were, but he was pleased to see her bare her teeth once again when he showed her the token he’d brought for her. He knew to be careful with gifts, but rocks from his forest, imbued with the moon’s energy and the earth’s vitality, were quite straightforward as presents from one ally to another, and useful enough not to raise any hackles from the more suspicious of her brethren. 

The sun was getting low, however, and soon they had no more information to exchange, not even of the personal leisurely sort, so he bid his goodbyes and left with the promise to visit again once the danger was past them. He’d keep to his next scheduled visit if the hunters were gone by then, and only make another surprise visit if he felt like he must, if circumstances changed. 

Hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary. 

By the time he’d climbed back to the surface and out through the tricky mouth of the cave, the sky was a deep orange. He could walk through the forest deaf and blind if he had to, of course, so navigating it by night under the watchful light of the stars would be no hardship for him. 

But he _was _getting hungry and he hadn’t forgotten the qurabiya nestled carefully inside his pack. He’d make a simple dinner and enjoy one for dessert. It shouldn’t take long for him to get to his cottage. 

He’d make in an early night. He had plans early the next day.


	2. Mishal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a huge thank you goes to the lovely [@itsmyusualphannie](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/) for being such a wonderful beta. (Psst, she's also an amazing writer so if you're looking for something to read in between updates you could [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmyusualday/pseuds/itsmyusualphannie) ;))

“Daniel!” His mum exclaimed and promptly enveloped him into a hug upon opening the door. As if she didn’t know he was coming, he thought with a smile, and squeezed her back. As if they hadn’t made plans to have breakfast together a full week earlier, the last time he’d come over. “Nice to see you too, Mum.”

“Come in, come in. Your father should be about done with the bread. He got those coffee beans you like for today, you know. We left them steeping overnight, so get ready for a caffeine kick.”

Walking into his childhood home was always a little disorienting, like stepping back in time into a different reality. A less complicated one. 

Gaia skipped up to him and wound around his legs before he managed to make it more than two steps into the room, and Dan crouched down to skritch her soft little head. “Hello,” he cooed sweetly. She had him wrapped around her adorable little paw. “How are _you_?” She purred at him and pushed into his hand, demanding more pets. “I’m glad I caught you at home this time around, you little menace.”

Gaia was a light grey-brown tabby cat. The wild cat lived at his parents’ house, but liked to leave for little excursions into the forest, sometimes for days at a time. She had been born in the forest, so they let her roam free. 

The little rascal had decided to adopt his family one day after running into Dan in the forest; after she was gracious enough to let him pet her, he’d been surprised to find her following him home. She’d just followed him in, claimed a spot on one of their rugs as her own, and that had been that. Papa had fallen in love with her at first sight.

“Hey, kid! Did you bring the stuff?” his dad yelled from the kitchen area.

“Yeah, yeah. I said I would, didn’t I?” Dan yelled back, grinning.

His dad huffed loudly, still out of view. “You never know with your sweet tooth. I raised you, boy, I know how much you like the stuff, you might have kept it to yourself and said Conrad was all out or something.”

Dan got to his feet, chuckling, and watched Gaia strut away towards one of the pillows she had appropriated for the very crucial purpose of lounging around the house. His eyes caught the painstakingly cared-for collection of bonsai trees lining the far wall, and his grin dimmed a little. Reminders of his Papa were everywhere in this house. This was still his house, after all. Even if he couldn’t be here anymore. 

But he pushed the ache aside, and headed for the kitchen area, brushing the green luscious leaves of some of the plants on his way. They turned to him like they would for sunlight, his touch encouraging and familiar to them.

After a tight hug, his dad waved him to the table, which was already brimming with more food that they’d be able to eat in one sitting. He always did this, not that Dan was complaining. It guaranteed he’d be taking some delicious leftovers home with him, after all.

Dan unwrapped his own contribution with a flourish: the qurabiya he’d brought all the way from the village, one for each of them, and then finally sits down at his family home’s table, where he’s had countless meals, and countless conversations with his parents through the years, both serious and banal, for a generous breakfast and the opportunity to catch up.

They chatted and ate and drank more caffeine than they normally would, and it wasn't until all the plates (and leftovers) had been put aside, and conversation had lulled that he brought up the news of the hunters heading to the village. Gaia trilled from where she was sprawled on his lap as soon as he brought it up, probably sensing his worry and trying to make him feel better, but Dan ran one hand down her spine in soothing motions and she settled down again.

He hated the haunted look in his mum’s eyes, the flicker of hatred in his dad’s, the muted anger in them both. But he had to let them know. He wasn’t sure if the hunters would come into the forest, not with only two of them, but they should be prepared. Just in case.

He shuddered to think what might have happened if a pair of completely unexpected hunters were to knock on their door without warning.

* * *

Dan did his regular round through his parents’ fields before he left. His parents knew what they were doing after all these years, of course, so there wasn’t much for him to do, just a gentle nudge here and there to make sure the crops thrived.

The peach trees were already bearing fruit, so Dan also picked a few peaches to add to the pack of leftovers he knew his dad must be putting together. He didn’t have peach trees himself, so he always nicked a few when they were in season.

Walking the fields was bittersweet, much like visiting his parents’ house. The grounds were teeming with happy memories from his childhood, memories of playing tag with his dad, of learning the different ways to connect to the earth from his Papa, of his mum tracing the letters in his favourite storybook when she taught him to read under the shade of the fruit trees, of the little picnics they used to go on, all of his family, together… 

They used to go into the forest too, all four of them sometimes, but sometimes just Dan and his Papa, and he remembered running off as fast as his little feet could carry him, brimming with a love and wonder for the forest that he couldn’t explain back then, but which he _felt_, unerringly, bone-deep and all-encompassing, and his mum and dad would sigh and yell at him to stay close but his Papa would laugh and tell them it was alright, that he could track him if necessary, and that the forest would protect him. 

But he still got a lecture about how his mum and dad couldn’t keep up with him when he ran like that, especially when they were in the forest, as they couldn’t ask the forest to make way for them when the thorny bushes were too close together or to nudge the branches away from their face or even walk barefoot on the earth without risking cuts or bruises; and they couldn’t feel where the earth would rise or dip without looking first like Dan and Papa could, so they had to be a lot more careful. 

And so running was okay if Papa was around because he’d be able to keep up and look out for him, but when he was alone with Mum and Dad he had to stay closer and he had to look out for them. He didn’t quite understand it the first time they explained, why wouldn’t they be able to feel it? The instincts sang loud and clear through him, surely everyone could hear them too?

It started making sense when his Papa started teaching him about the other peoples of the forest, about how it wasn’t just their words that sounded different, but that they perceived the world differently too, how they had different abilities, and different attitudes and customs, and how it was important to respect their preferences and to always know their boundaries, both of the geographical and the cultural sort, so that he wouldn’t cross them by mistake.

It didn’t occur to him to ask them why his Papa never went with them into the village, or why he wasn’t allowed to talk about him there until he was a bit older, and funnily enough the subject didn’t come up until he realised that all the village kids had only two parents. Human custom.

All of the other kids he knew, the children of the forest nymphs, had three or four. The will-o’-the-wisps didn’t have any parents, the little ones were all raised communally; the air sprites had no parents but were independent from a young age, they were almost grown once they hatched, and so they didn’t need parents, only some of their kin to teach them their ways. The kelpies had no preference, they could pair off or form groups or raise children individually. 

Nymph custom, Dan had known from a young age, was three or four.

He’d asked his mum about it one night, after she was finished reading his bedtime story. He must have been six or seven. His hair was still blonde then, like Papa’s. His mum liked to run her fingers through it when she read him stories, which had always made Dan feel warm and loved, and that day was no exception.

“Mum,” he’d asked her, “do people in the village only marry one person?”

“Yes, love. That’s how the humans in the village do it.”

She’d explained that some faraway human villages allowed that a man could have many wives, but normally not the other way around.

“That’s weird,” he’d said. 

“Yes, I always thought that didn’t quite make sense,” she’d agreed with him with a fond smile.

After turning it over in his mind, he’d asked, “So we’re a nymph family? But you’re not, right?”

“Mixed marriages can pick and choose,” Mum had told him. “When you bring together the traditions of two or more peoples, you’ll have some contradictory customs and beliefs, and so you’ll have to decide which ones make sense _for you_, for the new family you’re starting. That’s what we did.”

Dan had taken that in, then asked, “Is that why Papa never comes with us to the village? Did he pick not to do that, mummy?”

Mum had stayed silent at first, thinking. Dan had learnt that meant that she wanted to explain something he might have trouble understanding, and was looking for the right words, so he stayed put, letting the gentle motions of her fingers carding through his hair relax him into the bed, where she’d tucked him in before reading him the story he’d picked that night.

“Some people... don’t like when different peoples come together,” she started. “They don’t… understand. That’s why we taught you not to talk about it in the village.”

Dan hadn’t understood, then. “But the nymphs who visit the forest know about you and Dad and Papa!” he’d objected. “And the aes sídhe know! And the rusalki-”

“Yes,” his Mum had interrupted, “they know because we knew they’d respect it, even the ones that don’t understand it. So we told them. Or we let them see, knowing they’d realise what it meant. But humans are… complicated.”

“But _you’re _human!” little Dan had protested, “and so is Dad! And you love Papa, both of you!”

“We do,” Mum had smiled softly at him, “and we love _you_, sweetheart,” she’d poked his nose and made him giggle. “You’re half human, too, you know.”

“I know!” Dan had said. He’d known that since he was really little. She didn’t need to tell him!

“But humans… we have different opinions. We don’t all think the same way. A lot of other peoples are the same. It’s just the aes sídhe _here_ in this forest that we know to be supportive. Others might, or might not. The humans in the village are like that. Some would be okay with it, and some would not be. Some would be respectful, but some would try to tell us we’re wrong, and some might even refuse to trade with us, or might try to convince others not to talk to us. Humans are more divided.”

He’d felt her try to smooth out his frown, but he couldn’t understand, as a child, how anyone could be against his parents’ love. They were so happy together! They were _right _for each other, anyone could see it.

“It’s alright, Dan. The forest is our home. The village is just a place we visit sometimes to trade.”

“Yeah… They make really tasty pastries,” Dan had told her decisively after thinking about it for a little while. “But I wouldn’t want to live there.”

Mum had laughed, “I wouldn’t want to live there either, baby.”

He hadn’t learnt until years later that she’d been born in the village, had grown up there and felt stifled by the weight of their customs and expectations; that the villagers had thought her crazy for venturing into the forest so often to visit her family’s lands, and had thought it a bit scandalous when she’d started taking her intended with her for trips that could last days, or weeks. She had met Dan’s dad in the village, and they had met Papa in the forest, which he sometimes visited, and they had all converged in the middle to build a home together.

A warm, happy, _loving _home where they had raised their first and only child with all the love the three of them had to give. The whole place was filled with sweet childhood memories for Dan, only slightly soured by the sting of his Papa’s forced absence these days. 

* * *

Once Dan was done with his walk through the grounds (and he’d been cheerfully given his pack of leftovers), Dan said his goodbyes and set out on another day of traipsing the forest, making sure all its protections were in place and that everyone in it knew to hide before the hunters made it there. 

He’d already spread the word, as soon as he’d made it back into the forest (and the sprites’ nomadic nature was always a blessing in these situations, they were staunch allies and they could cover more ground than even Dan, who could borrow the strength of the forest for short periods of time); but it’d put his mind at ease to do what he could in preparation.

It was a good thing that Dan didn’t have to spend as much time encouraging his crops as humans did, or he’d never have enough time to watch over the forest and its creatures enough for his peace of mind. 

Not that there was as much to do as there used to be, with so many folks gone.

* * *

Something was off. 

Dan had spent the entire afternoon doing little protections and sweeps over the forest, and the whole day, something had been niggling at him, something that felt like the smallest disturbance at the back of his mind, at the edge of his vision. He felt ever so slightly off kilter, and he knew it wasn’t the news of the hunters because this was new. This hadn’t been bothering him the previous day, or that morning as he travelled to his parents’, or even as he left his childhood home with two tight hugs and more food that he’d be able to eat in one sitting. 

This was a more recent development. The air had changed, somehow, since then. 

But only slightly, or at least, that was what his instincts were telling him. Whatever it was didn’t feel like a big threat, or like an invasion by outsiders (this is how the hunters entering his forest would feel like, he knew. Unless they were very, _very _good. And that thought only fed his worst nightmares, so better to put them aside.)

The back of his neck was prickling, even as he knew there was nothing behind him (he’d checked. Repeatedly). He had been planning to go home as usual, get some sleep in his bed, but he was reconsidering. If there was something out here… something that didn’t _belong…_

Dan frowned at the thought, confused. That didn’t feel right, either. He wasn’t sure how that could be, if something or someone new had infiltrated his forest, and it did seem like it was an _infiltration_, whoever it was had been covering their tracks, and the fact that _Dan _couldn’t easily pinpoint them was making him nervous. 

He _could _make more of an effort and get a better reading, but not without possibly revealing too much of himself, and he hadn’t lived to the ripe old age of 28 by being reckless or incautious. If he was exposed as a nonhuman (or a half-human, really, not that hunters gave a damn about the distinction) then he’d have no choice but to fight.

He’d have no choice but to kill them.

Or try his darndest, anyway. Kill or be killed.

He was tired.

Dan slowed his steps even more, surveying his surroundings carefully once again. If he was going to stay out here he might as well camp out. Either touching the soil on one of the half-hidden natural depressions of the earth covered by foliage or up on the sheltering branches of one of the oldest trees would be safest. 

He was covertly inspecting some of the closeby options when the elusive presence that had been taunting him all day solidified into something recognisable.

“You little shit,” proclaimed Dan loudly into the general direction where he could feel the presence, grinning wildly, suddenly charged with an almost manic energy. “I can’t _believe _you.”

A surprised pause, and then. “Dan.”

The voice was familiar, even though Dan hadn’t heard it in over a decade. Dan would recognise that spark anywhere. “You _sneaky bastard_, I thought there was someone trying to _hunt _me!”

Now that he’d stopped hiding himself, Dan could sense Mishal approaching him, and was already looking in his direction when he came out from his cover behind the dense greenery. 

Mishal looked shocked to see him, and Dan couldn’t imagine why. Dan had been here all along, it had been Mishal that had left the forest, years back. 

Mishal looked tired, disheveled in a way that was so unlike him that Dan assumed he must not be getting enough rest throughout his travels. It would not surprise him to learn that was the case, if he was travelling alone. No one to watch his back while he settled for some sleep couldn’t be an easy way to live these days. Whatever he was going through, Dan hoped he’d accept his offer for refuge, at least for a little bit. Either way, it was good to see a friendly face, especially one he hadn’t been sure he’d ever get to see again. 

When Mishal reached out for him, fingers outstretched, Dan felt his grin soften into a fond smile. He touched his childhood friend’s fingers with his own, and just like they’d devised all those years ago in this very forest, he let his fingers harden where they met Mishal’s, and his friend let the fire that ran through his veins ignite the tips of his own fingers, in the same friendly greeting they used to do as children.

Dan touched the pad of each of his fingers to Mishal’s and then pulled away slowly. Mishal looked happy to see him too, so he risked pulling him in for a hug. He could almost hear his friend rolling his eyes at his human greeting, but he went with it willingly enough.

“It is good to see you, old friend,” Dan muttered close to Mishal’s ear.

“You have no idea how great it is to find you here, Daniel.”

They parted, but stayed close, surveying each other for the myriad signs of age, learning each other’s features anew. It _had _been years.

Dan threaded their fingers together in a common friendly nymph gesture. “You can stay at my place tonight, if you’d like. You can stay as long as you’d like, of course, but it’s already dark tonight, and I’d like to go home to catch up, if it’s alright with you?”

“Thank you, my friend. I will take that offer. We do have a lot of catching up to do, but some rest before that would be appreciated.”

  
Dan couldn’t stop smiling, running into one of his old friends, especially his nymph friends, was a near miraculous treat these days. The knowledge that he was alright, that he was safe, was enough to lift his spirits for the foreseeable future, but to actually get to see him? To get to talk to him, and reassure himself that his friend _ was _fine, to get to invite him into his home and spend time with him?

It was an unexpected blessing.

* * *

Dan had met Mishal when his family had been visiting his forest.

He and his Papa had been on one of their customary walks when they sensed him nearby. Mishal had got away from his parents and had been just sat there in the dirt, trying to muffle his crying. 

The poor boy had been inconsolable when he’d accidentally hurt one of the human children with his fire. It had been nothing serious, but the humans’ reaction had clearly left an impression.

He was so young, of course he didn’t have his fire under control yet. Back then. Dan was still working on only manifesting his elements when he made a conscious decision to do it instead of automatically when his instincts wanted to, so he hadn’t thought anything of it. Mishal was a few months younger than him, but he'd _looked _younger, so it made sense to Dan that he was still learning too. 

But fire frightened many of the creatures of the forest, and it terrified humans, and Mishal’s family had been told in polite but firm terms that they were unwelcome in the village after the incident. 

Mishal had thought it was his fault, and Dan remembered the tear tracks that had marked the soft, dark skin of his cheeks when Dan had found him curled up against the ancient root of a tree. Dan loved it when the roots came up from the ground like that, he liked curling up to them too, to read or to eat or just to touch them and feel the trees and the earth in the area. But Mishal was clearly not happy, and Dan had wanted to make it right.

Dan would forever be thankful he’d been with his Papa at the time, because talking hadn’t helped, and inviting Mishal to play hadn’t helped either, but his Papa had known what to do when Dan didn’t.

Mishal told them he was dangerous, and that they should stay away from him. Dan was tall for his age (6 years old then), and so seeing the too-skinny boy who only came up to his shoulders all folded into himself, with puffy eyes, tear-tracks, and still sniffling, Dan had thought he’d never seen anyone look _less _threatening, and that he’d like to give him a hug. But his offer of friendship was rebuked, as were his offers to play and his platitudes, so he didn’t know what to do. 

His Papa did.

He’d come a bit closer, despite Mishal’s half-hearted protests, and sat down to talk to him, waving Dan to sit too. He’d talked about himself, about his family, how he’d been born in a forest not unlike this one, but far to the North. About how he used to travel, alone or with family, or sometimes friends, and how he’d been passing through when he met this lovely human couple, right here in this forest, and they were so kind and friendly, he’d thought how nice it was that he’d made two new friends. The tale distracted Mishal enough that he stopped sniffling, and he moved a bit closer, listening raptly.

He decided to stay for a bit, he told the boy (Dan knew this story already; he asked his parents to tell it often enough at his bedtime that he had it memorised), so that he could spend some time with them, get to know them better. And, to his delight, he learnt that they were moving into the forest! So they could explore the forest together, for weeks or months on end if they wanted! 

And they did, and the months passed, and before he knew it, it was almost a full year later, longer than he’d ever stayed in any wood or forest, and yet he realised that he still didn’t want to leave. 

It wasn’t the forest, he explained, that called to him. Not any more than all the others he’d visited. He was a forest nymph, so of course forests called to him. He had seen many forests, and had loved all of them, but he always moved on to see new ones. 

What was new was _his friends_, he told the enraptured little boy, who he didn’t want to leave behind. He’d fallen in love with them, you see. He’d found his mates. Mishal gasped at the revelation, and Dan smiled really wide at them both, happy to hear this story again, pleased that the other boy liked it too, and that he didn’t look sad anymore.

Then Papa had reached out his hand, not touching Mishal but rather inviting him to take the offered hand himself, and when the boy only looked at him with wide eyes and shook his head, his Papa had manifested the trees that were as much a part of him as his flesh, slowly so that the boy could see it happen, and he explained how, even if his fire came out again, Mishal wouldn’t hurt him. Not accidentally. Forest nymphs were impervious to a little fire, even nymph fire. It took a concentrated attack sustained for minutes before any real damage was done, and even longer with common fire. If he wanted to hurt him, he joked, it’d have to be on purpose.

Then, he’d proven it, by convincing Mishal to try bringing forth his fire and touching it to his hand. Dan had observed the exchange closely and had demanded that he wanted to try too. To Mishal’s further shock, his Papa had agreed. None of Mishal’s protests had turned out to be founded. Dan’s age wasn’t an issue (especially as Dan’s difficulties stemmed from staying fully ‘human’ and not from calling or keeping up his element manifestations), and neither was Dan’s mixed heritage. 

Dan, his Papa had explained, wasn’t actually half-human and half-nymph. That was just an easy way to talk about it. Dan was fully human, and fully nymph. He was both, as much as he chose to claim each heritage. He had all the abilities of a forest nymph, and all the faculties of humans. 

Dan had touched Mishal’s beautiful fire with reverence, watching it dance through his hardened fingers. The fire was alive, he realised. Well, not _alive _alive, but alive in the same way the bark of his hands or the bones of his antlers felt alive. Alive because they were a part of him, a living creature.

They had been friends ever since.

* * *

Dan led Mishal to his cottage, where he insisted they had dinner before bed. 

It didn’t take much convincing, fortunately, but they were tired enough that they didn’t linger over the meal. Dan talked a little about the forest, and only once they had finished eating, revealed to his friend what had happened to his Papa, when the first wave of hunters came. 

Dan didn’t like talking about it, but he felt it was better to get it out of the way. Mishal would ask eventually, and he couldn’t take the dread of anticipation, wondering every time his friend turned to him to speak if this would be the time when he brought it up.

They hadn’t had any warning, back then. Hunters were new and unexpected still, and they had found his Papa close to the fringe where the forest met the outskirts of the village. 

“Did they…?” Mishal started, evidently fearing the worst.

“They bound him,” Dan answered, “banished him from this plane.”

Mishal exhaled sharply. “Could it be reversed...?”

Dan shook his head. “I haven’t been able to find a way to do it yet. By the time I got there, some of the runes they used had faded with the force of the magick. So I don’t have all of them.”

Mishal looked down in a show of mourning. “I’m so sorry, Dan.”

Dan smiled, bittersweet. “They weren’t killing us yet, back then. They just wanted us _gone_. I felt it, you know. Through the forest. I ran, and when I got there, they turned to me, defensive. If they hadn’t had a couple of villagers with them to vouch for me, I think they might have attacked me. If they had figured out what I was, if I’d had to defend myself… they probably would have banished me, too.”

Mishal rested a warm hand over Dan’s own, providing comfort and friendship in the only way he knew how, in a situation where he knew there was nothing he could do except be there. 

Dan shook his head, shaking off the mood as best he could. “I didn’t mean to sour the meal. Just thought you should know.”

“And you never left?” Mishal asked, quietly, no trace of disapproval or reproach in his voice.

“Where would I go?” Dan countered, voice brittle with unshed tears and so much repressed rage for what had happened, and Mishal had no answer.

They turned in shortly thereafter, Mishal in Dan’s spare room, with strict instructions to wake him if he needed anything at all.

“I have much to tell you, as well,” Mishal had told him after thanking him. “But I think it’d better wait until tomorrow. I do need the rest, and I’m looking forward to getting it where I know I am safe, for once.”

Dan squeezed his hand with a smile, letting him know he was welcome without saying a word.

* * *

Martyn took a minute to stretch out stiff limbs once he’d dismounted his travel horse. Their horses were on loan for the duration of their service, which was one of the best perks of the job. He was used to life on the road by now, but it could still get tiresome at times, and he didn’t even want to imagine how much more cumbersome it could get if they’d had to requisition a means of travel on every new village. 

After days of travel, he could only be grateful they’d finally reached the latest in their convoluted sequence of destinations. 

At least they’d been travelling for long enough without a break that he would be able to strongarm his stubborn little brother into getting a proper night’s rest without much fuss, he thought, sending a tired glance at Phil where he was critically surveying the borders that outlined the village and the seamless way the boundary gave way to the fringes of the untamed forest. 

Martyn spared a thought to be grateful that they’d managed to lose the entourage that had so annoyingly forced their way into joining them for an entire three days’ journey back at the last village. Young unmarried ladies with too much money and influence had no place hitching rides with sanctioned hunters, especially when said hunters were a) hot on the trail of a young rogue dryad, and b) not interested in wooing said ladies, much less relieve them of their unwedded state. Gods deliver him from well-intended matchmakers and status seekers who think marrying a hunter would bring them fame and fortune and untold excitement. Martyn had tried telling them he was betrothed, but they seemed to think anything other than married could be worked around. Heavens, but he missed Cornelia. Every day he spent away from her felt twice as boring and thrice as long. He couldn’t wait until she could meet up with them again after the festivals.

He looked around the boundary, making an effort to pay attention to the here and now. Unobtrusive runes aside, there didn’t seem to be as strong a demarcation as most villages and towns favoured these days, so the villagers must feel quite comfortable living side by side with the forest. That was most likely a good sign. 

The promise of a proper bed to slumber on before the night was out was the only thing that allowed Martyn to keep ahold of the urge to rush Phil’s initial appraisal of the place. 

Phil always assessed the boundaries first, something about liminal places and being able to see both sides better from there or something nebulous like that. It was one of those things that Phil couldn’t seem to find proper words to explain no matter how much he tried; one of those things he _ felt _ but which came out in jerky gestures or sweeping flailing motions and inarticulate sounds whenever he’d tried making the effort to articulate it to them. It didn’t matter, of course. It _ worked_, and that was all their family or anyone else needed to know.

After a slow trek back and forth through the border, Phil turned to him, looking… vaguely bewildered. 

“Alright there?” Martyn ventured.

“Well…” Phil seemed lost for words for a few long seconds, but rallied before it became worrisome. “There’s definitely _ something _around this place. Not sure it’s the one we’ve been tracking, though.”

Oh. Well. They could work with that.

“Right. But sleep first?”

Phil rolled his eyes, shedding the contemplative look for a well-worn little-brother needling grin. He was such a little shit. “Alright, _ old man_. We’ll get you a place to rest your weary bones, don’t you worry.”

Martyn huffed a laugh. “Like you’re not going to enjoy the rest, too.”

Phil smiled and shook his head, but he didn’t counter the accusation. He just grabbed the reins on his own horse and led the way into the village proper.

(Martyn knew that if it were up to him, Phil might have tried rushing into the forest at dusk, even with hardly any time before the darkness of the night covered them, even with no knowledge of the terrain and no semblance of a plan, to try and find their fleeing dryad as soon as possible. 

He also knew that Phil knew better. It had been a hard lesson for his brother to learn. For them both, really, but it was crucial to their survival. This was the kind of job that was too important to rush.)

And so they entered the village proper, and went to find the inn that they’d heard about to arrange for a room for the next few nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, writing these is taking me longer than anticipated but know that I am very much dedicated to finishing this story, and every kudos and comment is a healing balm on my weary soul (me? dramatic? whyever would you imply such a thing?).

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on the next chapter and will be aiming for weekly updates, but don't quote me on that. This one is really special to me and I want to do it justice so I won't compromise quality for speed, which might mean waiting a little longer for an update. There's a lot more where this came from, though, so if you enjoyed it stay tuned!
> 
> You can like/reblog this story on tumblr [here](https://maybeformepersonally.tumblr.com/post/186851899269/fic-the-poetry-of-resistance-chapter-1), and you can also drop by my askbox if you have any questions or comments :D


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